


Childlike

by Tricki



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fangirl Nicola, International Fanworks Day 2017, Politics, Weary Malcolm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 13:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9822032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tricki/pseuds/Tricki
Summary: The pitch of Nicola Murray’s voice is usually enough to make Malcolm Tucker want to wrench his teeth from his head and ram them into his ears until he’s perforated his eardrums and pierced his brain.  Today it is a good half octave above that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> International Fanworks Day fic from the AO3 prompt "What does your favorite character—or your favorite pairing—get fannish over?" I loved this prompt the second I saw it and did not get enough sleep as a result. Hope you all enjoy!

“Oh my god oh my god!  Ohmygod!”  The pitch of Nicola Murray’s voice is usually enough to make Malcolm Tucker want to wrench his teeth from his head and ram them into his ears until he’s perforated his eardrums and pierced his brain.  Today it is a good half octave above that. 

“Jesus, would yeh sit the fuck down, Nic’la?”  Malcolm growls.  He is sitting in one of the seats outside the Prime Minister’s office, trying to read a draft op-ed that one of the communications team has drafted.  It left rather a lot to be desired, and his ability to do so was severely inhibited by Nicola fucking Murray veritably screeching in his ear.

The other Cabinet Ministers waiting for the grand event are doing so with a more muted excitement - whispering quickly between themselves, fighting their desire to grin.  Claire Ballantine is making inappropriate jokes with Tonya Mulgrave.  Ben Swain is pretending not to care.  Dan Miller is obsessively smoothing his overly-greased hair.  All reasonable responses.  Nicola Murray is literally bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

A little squeak of delight escapes her and she brings her hands to her face, beaming like a child at their birthday party.  Malcolm looks at her with a slight snarl and a derisively arched eyebrow. 

“OH MY GOD!”  She whisper-screams.  “I can’t believe I’m going to meet Barack Obama!!”  Malcolm studies her face, lit with pure joy, and is a little envious that even after all this time in politics, she can still find such a level of delight at the prospect of meeting another politician.  It’s charming, in a way.  Endearing, sort of.  Annoying, absolutely and utterly.  She begins to pace the hallway, making little noises of glee.  This is why no one wants to fucking sit with her in Cabinet.  She’s clinically fucking infirm.  But she does have a nice arse.  And quite good hair, when she bothers to brush it - which, clearly she has today, since she’s going to be in the presence of an actual professional politician. 

“Stand still, Nic’la, yeh’re scarin’ the other Ministers.”  Nicola is about to snap at him, but she notes that, indeed, they are shooting her very wary glances.  She comes to stand beside him and continues her bouncing.  Malcolm is trying not to read too much into why she keeps cooling her fucking heels in his vicinity, but she sets off again. He winds long fingers around her wrist and tugs downwards, trying to tell her to keep her heels on the fucking ground.  She does so without him saying it.

“I was so nervous last night I couldn’t sleep.  I kept thinking about that scene in Love Actually - you know the one where Natalie - ”

“Yeh’re not even a tenth as competent as Martine McCutcheon, Nic’la.  This is already the fucking worst simile yeh’ve ever used.”

“ - but you know the one?  Where she swears and - ?  Anyway I was so worried I’d do that that I stayed up all night.  And I started watching videos of Obama’s speeches, and then I sort of fell into these parody videos.  Have you seen the Obama Llama Song?”

“What the fuck are yeh even talkin’ about, Nic’la??”  Malcolm demands, frowning deeply at the page before him.

“This song!  On YouTube!  It’s called the Obama Llama song and it goes for eight minutes and it was four in the morning!”

“What’s the time go’ t’do with it?”  Malcolm is still frowning, but at least now he’s looking at her. 

“I was delirious.”  The frown stays, the outright confusion apparent.  “I thought it was hilarious.”

“Yeh’re more fucking demented than a prostitute that’s started seeing ghosts.  Christ, I can’t believe we trusted a whole fucking department to someone as bent as you.”

“I’m not fucking bent, Malcolm.”  She spits, excitement momentarily forgotten.

“Yeah, well, about fifty thousand pictures of you standin’ in front of a big sign sayin’ ‘I am bent’ would suggest otherwise.”  He smirks to himself at his own cleverness.

“One day I will have you killed for that.”  Nicola threatens.

Malcolm snorts with genuine amusement.  “I’d like t’see yeh try.”

“Fuck off.”  She growls, and then remembers why the entire Cabinet is lined outside Tom’s office like naughty school children.

“And then there was this other really awful song about him.  But I laughed at that too.  And then there were all of these videos that had uplifting music behind them and I was...  I was...  Weirdly moved.” 

“Moved where?”  Malcolm teases, a slightly lecherous glint in his eyes.

“Funny.  You’re so funny.” 

The door to Tom’s office begins to swing open and one of Nicola’s hands shoots out against her will, then squeezes Malcolm’s shoulder so hard her nails bite into him even through suit jacket and shirt.

Another high pitched noise escapes her.  “Oh my god, Malcolm...”  She whispers - and even the act of lowering the volume is obviously causing her tremendous effort.  “Oh my god oh my god, what am I like?  What should I say??”

Malcolm rises to his feet beside her, folding the op-ed into a square before stuffing it in his inside jacket pocket and sighing in the way only a man who has met in excess of thirty world leaders can. 

“Christ, Nic’la.  Stop being such a fucking fangirl, pull yourself together, and go shake hands with the leader of the free world like fucking grownup.”

As always, Nicola does her very best to heed his advice. 


End file.
